


Life and Love on Pause

by Droewyn



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, And It's Probably the Nicest Conversation He's Had With Phichit, And Maybe a Convertible, And Then He Gets More Than He Bargained For, As He Asks Phichit To Describe How Yuuri Pees, At Last the Quality Content I Started Writing This For, Author Also Does Not Endorse OC's House-Sitting Habits, Author Does Not Necessarily Endorse the BARF Diet for Pets, Author Is Overly Fond of "Clever" Fic Titles, Author Wonders Why Everyone Is Looking At Her Like That, Author's Mother Does, Author: NO MORE ANGST YAY, Because Booke's Chat Is Entirely Populated By Sadists, Bodyswap, But All I Can Say Is:, Celestino Thought He Got Off Easy, Ciao Ciao is a MEAN MAN, Consistent Chapter Length? Never Met Her, DAMMIT TAGS STOP REARRANGING YOURSELVES, Exposition, HOW COULD I HAVE MISSED THIS TAG BEFORE IT'S MY FAVORITE TAG, I Almost Definitely Sort of Promise, I Have Nothing Funny To Say About This Chapter, I'll Get Around To Telling Everyone What The Acronym Means One Of These Years, I'll Write a Drabble For the First Person Who Gets It Right, If Anyone Actually Knows What Jaime Was Reading In the Last Chapter Let Me Know In Comments, It's Not an Alternate Meeting AU if Victor Doesn't Get Naked Somewhere, Karma Babe Karma, M/M, Makkachin Is Definitely The Best Girl Though, Makkachin is a Good Girl Who Is Trying Her Best, Missed Connection, More Discussion of Bodily Functions Than Is Absolutely Necessary, No Actual Yuuris Were Kinkshamed in the Writing of This Fic, Now Everyone Is On The Same Page And There Will Be No More Misunderstandings Or Secrets At All Ever, Oh hey look a real tag:, Phichit Chulanont is a Little Shit, Phichit and the No Good Very Bad Day, Please Join Me In Imagining Seung-gil's Stoic Countenance, Pray for Celestino, Quite Possibly the Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship, Second Verse Same As the First, Sharing a Bed, Someone Else Got the Drama Queens And He Got To Keep His Hair, Sometimes Shirtcocking Is the Only Solution, Sorry Not Sorry, Soulmates, Super Dog Hearing Isn't Always A Positive, THERE WILL BE MORE FLUFF AND FUNNY SOON I PROMISE, The Banquet Didn't Happen, The Banquet Was SUPPOSED to Happen, The Real Winner Here Is Phichit's Fanbase, Victor Almost Gets A Clue, Victor Nikiforov: Man Who Washes His Hands, Victor Owes Klara a Cookie, Victor Reacts Badly To Yuuri Reacting Badly, Victor's Beautiful Tears, Yet More Bodily Functions, Yuuri Does Get A Hug, Yuuri Fucking Katsuki: WELL ACTUALLY, Yuuri Uses Logic to Arrive At a Reasonable Yet Completely Incorrect Conclusion, also, butt stuff, you know who you are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2019-11-03 21:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 10,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17885462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Droewyn/pseuds/Droewyn
Summary: Fate doesn’t enjoy being thwarted, but sometimes that's just how things go when free will is involved.  That’s okay; there’s always a backup plan for when soulmates miss a connection.Fic Tags:Alternate Universe - SoulmatesSoulmatesBodyswapMissed ConnectionAlternate Universe - Canon Divergence





	1. Chapter 1

The suit was folded neatly over the desk chair, waiting for Yuuri to put it on.  He glared at it and didn’t move. The bed was, well, not exactly  _ comfortable _ , being a hotel bed, but it was warm and soft and  _ safe  _ and promised nothing more than a quiet place to be miserable in.  The suit with its JSF logo didn’t promise anything either; it demanded.  Put me on. Smile. Make nice for the sponsors. Represent your country. Try not to completely humiliate it this time.

Yuuri should have gotten dressed an hour ago.  He should have showered before that. He should be putting the finishing touches on his makeup by now, gelling his hair back, and generally trying to make himself look like he hadn’t spent the last twenty-four hours as the trash-goblin guest of honor at a pity party for one.

At the very least, he really needed to clean up all of the junk food wrappers before Celestino saw them.

But Yuuri stayed in bed, a pajama-clad disaster of a human being with swollen eyes and crusted nose, and soon enough he wasn’t just running late for the banquet, he  _ was  _ late.  And when the knock came at the door of his room, as he’d known it had to eventually, he couldn’t even summon up the energy to care.  Let his coach be disappointed. Let the JSF and ISU censure him. Let the other skaters wonder…

_ Get real, Yuuri.   _ Nobody  _ will wonder where you are. _

So Celestino knocked, and Yuuri told him to go away.  And he kept telling him, over and over, through gratingly-cheerful encouragement and stern entreaties to unlock the door both.  Go away. No.  _ No _ .  Tell them I’m sick.  Tell them I’m in mourning for my dog and my career.  Tell them… I don’t care what you tell them. Just leave me alone.  Go. Away.

And, at last, Celestino did.  And Yuuri got out of bed just long enough to stuff that physical embodiment of all of his failures into his suitcase, taking an almost savage satisfaction in the way the dark fabric crumpled and creased.  And then he buried himself back in the blankets, closed his eyes, and waited for morning to come.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 Tags:
> 
> The Banquet Didn't Happen  
> The Banquet Was SUPPOSED to Happen  
> Consistent Chapter Length? Never Met Her

The 2015 Grand Prix Final banquet was uneventful.  Nobody got drunk. There were no dance battles. Everyone kept their pants on, and the poles that supported the DJ stand were simply that: supports.  And while a few thoughts might have been spared toward an absent sixth-placer, none of them came from the once and future living legend, whose smiles masked the fact that he really wasn’t thinking about anyone or anything very much at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:
> 
> No Actual Yuuris Were Kinkshamed in the Writing of This Fic  
> Phichit Chulanont Is a Little Shit

Phichit was worried.  He was running late for practice, which was normal enough, but so was Yuuri, which wasn’t.  The bedroom door remained closed, and while there were noises coming from within, they weren’t Yuuri’s normal getting-ready noises.  They were…

Phichit wasn’t sure  _ what  _ was going on in Yuuri’s bedroom, to be perfectly honest.  Much as he wasn’t sure what had been going on in Yuuri’s head over the last few days.  Sochi was a disaster, sure, but it was in the past now, and Yuuri really needed to get over it if he was going to do well in his nationals.  

_ “You know, the ones you’re leaving for in  _ three days _ , Yuuri!” _

_ “I know…” _

_ “You promised me a one-two Phichuuri podium in Taipei!” _

_ “I  _ know--  _ wait, what’s a ‘Phichuuri’?” _

_ “Our ship name!” _

_ “We have a ship that needs naming?!” _

But that conversation had been yesterday morning, and training hadn’t gone any better than it had the day before.  Yuuri had floated around the ice in a funk so deep that he barely noticed he was landing all of his jumps on his butt.

He’s still jet-lagged.  He’s still grieving. He’s…

He’s given up.

No!

“I’m going to kinkshame you to Ciao Ciao if you don’t come out of your room this instant, young man!”  Phichit knew what Yuuri’s alone-time noises sounded like as only someone who shared a bedroom wall with him could, and while the little grunts and whuffing noises were definitely odd, they didn’t really sound like Yuuri was doing  _ that _ .  But nothing moved Yuuri quicker than the threat of another human being finding out that he was an adult male who sometimes did adult male things…

Except for this time, apparently, because other than some kind of muttered curse -- and what the hell did “boof” mean?  Phichit thought he knew all of Yuuri’s favorite Japanese swears by now -- everything remained quiet and the door did not open.

Right.  That’s it.  “I’m coming in -- and I’m recording!” Phichit called out, pausing only to thumb his phone into action before he flung the door open.  He was prepared for anything, from tears to a mountain of twinkies to Yuuri actually doing something that he could be kinkshamed for.

Or so he thought.

That a hundred and sixty pounds of Katsuki Yuuri might tackle Phichit to the floor with his face lit up in a open-mouthed grin of purest joy, before bending down and licking long stripes onto Phichit’s cheek with enthusiastic whines high in his throat?

_ Nobody  _ could have planned for that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:
> 
> Yuuri Uses Logic to Arrive At a Reasonable Yet Completely Incorrect Conclusion  
> Author Is Overly Fond of "Clever" Fic Titles

For a nightmare, this really wasn’t all that bad.  The gray/yellow/blue mood lighting his brain had come up with was weird, and it had taken a couple minutes to get used to running around on all fours, but for a scenario that was obviously meant to punish Yuuri by putting him in Vicchan’s place there were a lot fewer out of control cars than he might have expected.  Instead, he was left alone to explore his surroundings while a teenage girl that he didn’t recognize poured vodka into a champagne flute and sipped it while browsing videos on her phone.

The room was half-familiar to Yuuri in the way of dreams, though he knew he’d never been here before in his life.  Minimalist and modern, everything in that oddly washed out color scheme. The rooms off the hallway proved to be a bathroom and a pair of bedrooms, a spotless guest room and a master bedroom that sported a lived-in suitcase and an unmade bed.  Yuuri’s perspective seemed off; everything was larger than it would be to his human self, but he still felt like he wasn’t as small as Vicchan was. Had been.

Yuuri expected the home to change as he backtracked into the living room, but beyond the girl having moved to the couch, everything appeared to be the same. The cushion was soft enough when he hopped up next to her and planted himself next to her feet.

She reached out to give his ear a brief scratch without looking away from her screen.  It felt good, and Yuuri wished she hadn’t stopped so quickly.

No; this dream wasn’t actually bad at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:
> 
> Pray for Celestino

“Ciao Ciao, we have a problem.”

Celestino rolled his eyes at the phone.  He generally didn’t mind Phichit’s nickname for him, despite it having caught on all the way down to other coaches’ novices, but it was a lot easier to be jovial about the whole thing when both of his star pupils were on their game.  Or, at the very least, _actually present_.  “We do,” he agreed sternly, “and that problem is that we have booked ice time, yet neither one of you are here!”

Some clattering in the background of the call, and was that muffled shouting?  “Um, yeah, about that. Yuuri’s soulswapped.”

He groaned.  “ _Oddio_ , of course he has.”  Yuuri had the unfortunate twin habits of self-sabotage and running away from his problems; if any one of Celestino’s skaters was going to eject from their body days before a necessary comeback in order to chase their soulmate, it _would_ be him.

Of course, it wasn’t necessarily Yuuri’s soulmate.  “Is the swap for him or for you? I assume you’re the one he cares about the most in America.  And where’s his swapmate from? If they’re not close enough to arrange a meeting before we have to leave, I can probably get the JSF to fly them out to Sapporo.”  The first order of business would obviously be to schedule a swap confirmation; the JSF would demand proof before agreeing to fund anything, never mind the requirements for obtaining temporary international travel papers.  He started going over his list of IBSA contacts in his head. This was going to need to be expedited if they were going to make their scheduled flight the day after tomorrow.

Phichit laughed.  It sounded a little strained.  “I’m pretty damn sure they’re not here for me.”

“Are you sure?  You don’t feel drawn to them at all?  What did you say their name was? You don’t need a translator, do you?”  That, at least, would be easy enough to provide.

Another oddly unnatural laugh.  “Ciao Ciao, if you can find a translator who speaks dog, I promise that I will never bring my phone to the rink again.”

For a moment, Celestino was so shocked by the idea of Chulanont Unplugged that the first part of Phichit’s statement almost missed him.

Almost.

“Did you say _dog_?”

 _Madonna mia_.  This changed _everything_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:
> 
> Author Does Not Necessarily Endorse the BARF Diet for Pets  
> Author's Mother Does  
> Author Also Does Not Endorse OC's House-Sitting Habits

This wasn’t a dream.

Yuuri had come to this conclusion during his walk, when his teenage minder had clipped a lead to his collar and led him around a block in a strange city that was both too solid and too  _ cold  _ not to be real.  Smells assaulted his nose, one particularly unpleasant one demanding that he cover it with his own, and before he realized what he was doing, he was already squatting.  It should be humiliating, peeing on the base of a public mailbox, but, well, he was a dog. His body knew what to do, and the girl walking him wasn’t staring or making a big deal because it was normal.  And it was  _ satisfying _ , writing over that other dog’s scent, in a way that Yuuri was pretty sure he wouldn’t have imagined on his own.  Which meant that he  _ wasn’t  _ dreaming.  Which meant that everything that had happened today  _ had actually happened. _

Yuuri was inside the body of a dog.

Yuuri had soulswapped.

He’d often wondered what it would be like to inhabit another body, how it would feel to be taller, shorter, female.  Most people did, although it was the prospect of having a soulmate that was supposed to be the real appeal. A true partner, designed by the fates, just for you.  Yuuri had never dared to dream that he could be so lucky, but if he could play a part in someone else’s fairytale that would be more than enough. And if he’d swapped with anyone else, any other human, that was what he’d have assumed was going on.  Katsuki Yuuri: dime-a-dozen swapmate. The real hero’s best friend.

Except that wasn’t what had happened, was it?  Even granting that dogs had souls -- and like most pet owners, Yuuri was more than prepared to go to the mattresses with anyone who dared to suggest that they  _ didn’t  _ \-- there weren’t cross-species soulmates.  At least, nobody outside of some really trashy tabloids had ever claimed that there were.  But, although it was rare, there  _ had  _ been cases of people swapping with pets.  If the stationary soul was isolated. If there was no human love in their life.

If anyone gave out medals for denying reality, Yuuri wouldn’t have been a living legend, he would have been a god.  But even he had to acknowledge this truth:

Yuuri had a soulmate, and that soulmate was painfully lonely.

It wasn’t the girl.  Which was a relief, since she couldn’t possibly be out of high school yet.  It might have worried Yuuri, that he felt no particular draw toward her or anyone else, but he’d seen the suitcase and the way she carefully topped the vodka bottle up with tap water to hide what she’d drank.  She was here to watch Yuuri, or the dark-furred pup that Yuuri was displacing, anyway. And, judging by the way she’d made the bed and packed up her things before their walk, she wasn’t going to be around for much longer.

City blocks weren’t very big, but one turn around this one was plenty for Yuuri.  He was winded, far more tired than he should have been, and the cold was seeping into his bones, causing them to ache.  Yuuri realized with a shock that his inadvertent host was old, and for the first time he found himself curious about the body he was occupying.  He knew that she was a she, which didn’t seem to make as much difference as it might if he were visiting a human girl’s body. She was a big pup, with long, floppy ears and an excellent tail for wagging.  Her fur was a mess of dark curls, though it was impossible to tell exactly what her color was. It all looked a grayish green to Yuuri.

He wondered how much of a scolding he’d get if he jumped onto the bathroom counter to see himself.  If he used the toilet as a stepping stool…

Back in the apartment, the girl paused just long enough to kick off her boots before leading Yuuri to a fluffy dog bed in the corner of the living room.  It had so many blankets in it that it looked more like a nest than a pet bed, and Yuuri was delighted to discover that at least one of them was heated.  He didn’t wait for a second invitation and happily burrowed into the warmth, eager to let the heat chase away the chill and hopefully the pain along with it. The girl cooed something at him and gave his ears a brief ruffle, before making herself busy in the kitchen.  A dog bowl emerged from one of the cupboards.

Oh, good.  Yuuri was starving.  Not that he was thrilled with the idea of eating dry kibble, but it should taste good to his current body, right?  

_ If it doesn’t, I’ll at least have something to discuss with my soulmate later _ , he thought wryly.

Except the girl didn’t appear to be giving him dog food.  Instead, she was rummaging through the refrigerator, producing a number of plastic containers and… was that a package of raw chicken wings?

The chicken went straight into the bowl, to be topped with heaping scoops of whatever was in the tupperware.  Organ meats, Yuuri’s sensitive nose informed him, and… some kind of vegetables? It looked like swamp muck. Two raw eggs were cracked over the whole mess, then a splash of golden liquid that could only be fish oil, and finally, what looked like supplement tablets and vitamins were sprinkled on top.  A couple perfunctory swipes with a spoon to blend, and that was it.

Dinner was, apparently, served.

Yuuri’s human brain thought it was the most revolting mess he’d ever had put in front of him and been expected to eat.  His dog… everything else… wanted to know why it was still in the bowl and not in his stomach already. The girl said something encouraging to him, her brow furrowed in confusion.  The muck in the bowl smelled like heaven. It looked like death. And Yuuri?

Yuuri really,  _ really  _ wanted to leave all of a sudden.

Just walk right out of the front door.

The front door that was making the unmistakable sound of a key turning in its lock..

If Yuuri could have gasped, he would have.  Any lingering thoughts about mistakes made by fate evaporated.  His soulmate was on the other side of that door.

And Yuuri  _ needed  _ to see them.

The girl was between him and the door.  The bowl of goop was between him and the door.  He wanted to growl at both of them for being in his way, at the door for being locked, at his soulmate for  _ taking so goddamn long _ .  Did they not want Yuuri?  Did they not feel what he was feeling?  Did they--

The door opened.  Victor Nikiforov walked into the room, pulling a pair of wheeled suitcases behind him.  He beamed at Yuuri. “Makkachin,  _ ya doma _ !” he cried.

Yuuri fell over.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:
> 
> Phichit and the No Good Very Bad Day  
> Sometimes Shirtcocking Is the Only Solution  
> Phichit Chulanont Is a Little Shit

Phichit was out of his depth.  

It was a foreign feeling.  He was always in control, always ready with a quip or a wheedle to diffuse any situation.  Even the time he’d gotten Yuuri drunk and the two of them had decided to practice death spirals in the Campus Martius open air rink at four am had been manageable; yes, they’d gotten the police called on them, but by the time Phichit was done talking everyone was laughing and they ended up dropped off at home with a “warning” so mild the officer might as well have patted them on their heads before driving off.

If Phichit could handle Detroit’s finest, he should have been able to handle this.

Phichit was not able to handle this.

It wasn’t Yuuri-pup’s fault.  As far as Phichit could tell, Yuuri-pup was a perfectly well-behaved dog.  He was friendly, incredibly cuddly, only begged a little at the table, and whined when he needed to go out.  It was that last part that was causing the trouble. Phichit couldn’t let a fully-grown man outside to pee in the bushes.  He certainly couldn’t let a fully-grown man  _ who was naked from the waist down _ outside to pee in the bushes, as both he and Yuuri-pup had learned to their mutual dismay that dogs do not understand that pants and underwear need to come off when it’s time for “business” to be done.

That was the  _ first  _ bath that Yuuri-pup had needed that day.

Okay, so he needed help.  Fine. Great. It had to happen eventually, right?  The problem was, who to turn to? Some of their rinkmates had pets, but whoever had decided that ladies’ sewing circles were the gossipiest group of people in existence had obviously never met figure skaters.  Phichit might as well just broadcast his trouble on Twitter now and save everyone the bother. As for local contacts, Ketty had cats and Chad was… Chad. No help there.

Guang Hong might be able to help but then he’d tell Leo and then Phichit would be back to #soulswaptails trending on Twitter.  Christophe was a cat person and gossip both, the Crispinos were pet-free, Otabek Altin didn’t socialize enough for Phichit to know if he kept any animals.  Victor Nikiforov had a dog…

_ Whose number I’d have to get through Chris, who definitely would want to know exactly why I needed it.  Never mind that I don’t actually know Nikiforov well enough to gauge his trustworthiness. Oh, and Yuuri would  _ literally kill me.

And that was how Phichit found himself beaming at Seung-gil’s expressionless face via Skype, doing his very best to look like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“Chulanont.  I thought I blocked you.”   

Phichit twinkled at him.  “You did, but you left your phone unlocked and I knew you didn’t really mean it.”  

“Goodbye.”  Seung-gil made a motion toward what was probably the disconnect button.

_No no no no no!_ “I’lldoyourmakeupatFourContinentsifyoutalktome!" Phichit yelped.

Shale eyes narrowed in suspicion, but the skype call didn’t end.  “Fine; I’m listening.”

Phichit let out the breath that he’d been holding.  “I’ve got this puppy problem,” he began...


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:
> 
> Victor Reacts Badly To Yuuri Reacting Badly  
> Victor Owes Klara a Cookie  
> And Maybe a Convertible  
> DAMMIT TAGS STOP REARRANGING YOURSELVES

“Makkachin, I’m home!” Victor sang out.  It felt so  _ good  _ to be home.  So right. It always did, lately, since competitions had somehow become a barrier to his love for skating, rather than a platform to showcase that love, but this felt… different, somehow?  Stronger? He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the ride to the penthouse had seemed like the longest elevator ride of his life and throwing the door open was a relief beyond words.

Victor’s beloved poodle was sitting upright in her puppy bed.  Klara was squatting nearby, a thin brown-haired teenager who had clearly just brought Makka her dinner.  Makkachin looked up at Victor, her eyes widening. Then she let out a sound that sounded for all the world like a human gasp, and collapsed.

“Makka!”  Victor was across the room in an instant, all but shoving Klara aside to see to her -- his precious darling who was graying around the muzzle and didn’t react to quieter sounds anymore but was still just a baby, still the tiny pup he’d brought home from the breeder back when he was young and friendless and hadn’t won any international gold medals at all.  His fingers barely brushed the chocolate curls around Makkachin’s ears before she was backpedaling, her eyes locked on Victor’s in something like terror as she scrambled to get away from him. Fortunately, she couldn’t go too far backwards; her butt hit the back of the pet bed after only a foot or two. Makka yelped at the contact and fell over again, staring at Victor as though he was a stranger, and trembling.

He rounded on Klara.  The girl had gone pale and was clasping her hands over her mouth, either in shock or to hide the alcohol on her breath.  Victor had been willing to overlook a lot for Georgi’s cousin -- Makkachin liked her, she didn't skip walks or take shortcuts with meal prep, and none of Victor’s underwear had ever featured on eBay -- but it wasn't that Victor had never noticed her petty little abuses of his hospitality.  If he thought for one second that Makka had actually been  _ neglected  _ under Klara’s care…  

“What.  Happened.”  Victor didn’t even try to sugar-coat either the words or his tone, biting them out with venom born of fear.

Klara flinched.  “I don’t know!” the dogsitter yelped.  “Makka was fine today, a little quiet maybe -- we cuddled on the couch for a few hours -- but nothing seemed wrong!  We went for our full walk, she didn’t try to turn around early or anything this time, but after we got home I made her dinner and she didn’t seem to want it.  That was five minutes ago, and then you came home.” One of her hands had moved to twist nervously through mouse-brown hair, and she swallowed hard.

“And before today?”  

“Totally normal.  I would have called you if she wasn’t, I swear!”  Blue-gray eyes flickered back and forth between Victor’s face and Makka’s.  Victor would have liked to believe that Klara was at least as worried for Makkachin as for her own employment, but at the moment he wasn’t inclined to feeling charitable.  He reached inside his jacket for his wallet and pulled out a handful of ruble notes. It was probably too much money; he tossed it at Klara anyway. “Go home,” he told her.

Klara hesitated, but her fingers curled around the cash.  “Will you… if she’s… let me know..?” she quavered.

“Get out.”  Without waiting for a response, Victor got to his feet and retrieved Makkachin’s leash.  Normally he wouldn’t need it to walk through the parking garage from the elevator -- Makka was a good girl, the  _ best  _ girl, the prettiest and most well-behaved girl in the  _ world  _ \-- but there was nothing normal about the way she was behaving now.  He approached her slowly, with open hands. “See, sweetheart? It’s just me, and it’s just the leash.  We’re going to go for a ride in the car. You love the car, don’t you?” His instinct was to whisper, to speak as softly as possible, but Victor had read somewhere that using a tone that a frightened dog identified as whining or whimpering would upset them more.  So he kept his words bright and cheerful, as though they were going to the beach rather than the 24-hour emergency vet.

It must have helped; Makkachin was still shaking somewhat, but she looked less like she thought Victor was about to eat her whole.  She allowed him to clip the lead to her collar without protest, and trotted obediently enough behind him as he led her to the elevator.  There didn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with her, but she stayed near the end of her tether, the leash not quite taut between them.  And if she showed none of her usual excitement at the prospect of Taking a Ride with Dad, neither did she balk when he opened the door for her, curling up in the passenger seat and resting her head between her paws.  She kept stealing odd little glances at Victor when she obviously thought he wasn’t looking, only to close her eyes or turn away when she noticed him looking back.

It was a good thing Victor already wasn’t scheduled for training tomorrow.  He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:
> 
> Author: NO MORE ANGST YAY  
> Yuuri Fucking Katsuki: WELL ACTUALLY  
> THERE WILL BE MORE FLUFF AND FUNNY SOON I PROMISE

Never mind what Yuuri had thought before; this  _ was  _ a nightmare.  It was just one that he wasn’t able to conveniently wake up from.

Victor’s hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel, his lips pressed into a thin, unhappy line.  He looked nearly out of his mind with worry for his dog -- and Yuuri ruthlessly crushed the squees of his inner fanboy at that realization that he’d spent the day hanging out in  _ Victor Nikiforov’s apartment _ , that he was apparently swapmates with  _ the  _ Makkachin Nikiforov, which meant that Yuuri was…  that  _ Victor  _ was…  that  _ they  _ were...

Nope.  Not thinking about that now.

It was hardly a surprise when the car pulled into the parking lot of a veterinary hospital.  Yuuri-as-Makkachin had given Victor a terrible scare, and the champion had reacted the way any loving pet owner would.  It wasn’t Victor’s fault that there wasn’t anything wrong with the poodle beyond aching joints and a swapmate who had a tendency toward panic attacks at the worst possible moment.

Yuuri followed Victor into the waiting room and sat at his feet, wincing inwardly at the man’s frown.  Makkachin probably hated trips to the vet. All dogs did. But Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to upset Victor further by acting out -- and even if he did, he’d probably act out in the wrong way and make things even worse.  Victor was clearly hyper-alert for any changes in Makka’s personality, and no matter how many photos of the famous pup he had saved on his phone at home, Yuuri didn’t  _ know  _ her.  How could he?  He wasn’t even sure he could be a convincing  _ Vicchan  _ after all those years abroad.

Vicchan.  Vicchan was  _ gone _ .  Vicchan was gone, and instead of mourning him, instead of working to do better,  _ be  _ better in his honor, Yuuri was half a world away impersonating someone else’s dog.  Badly.

Did Yuuri even  _ deserve  _ to grieve?  He was the one who had abandoned Vicchan first, after all.  To miss him now, to… to  _ pretend  _ to care once it was too late to matter, when he obviously hadn’t cared enough to stay in the first place…

Somewhere, a dog was crying.  High-pitched, miserable whimpers.  Was that what Vicchan had sounded like, in those last moments on the street?  At the end, was it Mari he was trusting to take the pain away, Mari whose arms he was cradled in?  Or was he still faithfully waiting for a boy who would never, ever come?

“Makka?   _ C _ _ hto ne tak? _ ”  A voice penetrated the fog of Yuuri’s thoughts.  Victor’s voice, the words foreign but the meaning and concern behind them obvious.  “Shh,  _ milaya _ , shh....”  A gentle hand on his head, and  _ oh  _ it was a lie, the comfort wasn’t meant for him,  _ shouldn’t  _ be meant for him, but Yuuri was selfish and hypocritical and  _ weak _ and he leaned into the caress, let himself imagine that the sweet endearments were his.

“ _ Dorogoy, ya by khotel pomoch' tebe… _ ”

Yuuri laid his head in the lap of the greatest figure skater in the world, and cried.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:
> 
> At Last the Quality Content I Started Writing This For  
> Celestino Thought He Got Off Easy  
> Someone Else Got the Drama Queens And He Got To Keep His Hair  
> But All I Can Say Is:  
> Karma Babe Karma  
> The Real Winner Here Is Phichit's Fanbase  
> Makkachin Is Definitely The Best Girl Though  
> More Discussion of Bodily Functions Than Is Absolutely Necessary  
> Please Join Me In Imagining Seung-gil's Stoic Countenance  
> As He Asks Phichit To Describe How Yuuri Pees  
> And It's Probably the Nicest Conversation He's Had With Phichit  
> Quite Possibly the Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship  
> Phichit Chulanont Is a Little Shit

“ _What_ do you have that poor boy _wearing_?”  Ciao Ciao had just gotten there, and he already had that long-suffering look on his face.  Phichit would have related, but he’d already made the decision to look on the bright side of the situation.

And if the bright side involved raiding the section of Yuuri’s cosplay closet where the outfits that he was too embarrassed to wear in public lived?

Phichit offered Celestino his third most innocent grin.  “What?” he chirped. “Skirts make sense in this situation!   _Dogs don’t understand pants, Ciao Ciao_.”  As though he hadn’t had to wash Yuuri’s favorite pair of Mizuno track pants twice.  But what happened behind the closed doors of their apartment stayed there. At least it did when the only witness couldn’t speak English.  Or Human.

Ciao Ciao raised an eyebrow at him.  “That’s not just a skirt,” he said. “That’s one of those _anime things_.”

Technically it was an anime-faithful replica of Rei Hino’s private school uniform from the fifth season of Sailor Moon, but honestly Phichit was proud of Ciao Ciao for recognizing that much.  Dove gray was a good color on Yuuri, and the deep crimson bow in the center of his chest added a needed pop of color. The charcoal pleated skirt drew attention to his legs, where white knee socks hugged his calves like a second skin and black Mary Janes completed the look.  

If he could just get Yuuri-pup to sit still long enough to pin the matching wig in place, Phichit could get _so many_ pictures _…_ He hadn’t actually expected the dog to cooperate as well as she had, but apparently being groomed and possibly dressed up was a normal thing in her life.  She’d squirmed a bit, wanting to be able to see what was happening to her while she was being dressed, but the only real fuss she’d kicked up had been over the socks and shoes -- and even that was limited to some awkward high-stepping, the look of irritated bafflement so cute on Yuuri’s face that Phichit couldn’t help but video the moment.

He’d been recording a lot of Yuuri-pup’s antics, actually.  Yuuri’s soulmate’s dog was such an absolute sweetheart that it was impossible not to, and anyway, Phichit had a Best Man Multimedia Presentation to start putting together.

“It’s what we had available--”

“--I _don’t_ need to know why you had that--”

“And besides, Yuuri-pup doesn’t mind, do you, girl?”  Phichit let his tone go sugary, and was rewarded with an open-mouthed grin and excited wiggles.  Yuuri-pup compensated for her lack of a tail with Yuuri’s hips, and that milkshake was more than capable of bringing all the boys _and_ girls to the yard.

(Phichit had come to the reluctant conclusion that posting obvious Yuuri-pup media without consent wouldn’t be crossing a friendship line so much as nuking it from orbit.  But a context-free thirty second gif of “Yuuri” shaking what his momma gave him? It would have been criminal to deprive the world of its Eighth Wonder. So he didn’t. The resulting flood of likes, comments, and new followers to his own Instagram was strictly incidental, of course.)  

(Was he also relying heavily on Yuuri being too wrapped up in the honeymoon phase of his brand new soul bonding to notice?   _Maybe_...)

“That’s right, who’s the best girl?  Best and sweetest girl in the whole world!  Is it you? Is it? It’s you, isn’t it?” He might have miscalculated a little; he’d never liked being licked on the face when the dog in question _wasn’t_ camping out in his best friend’s body, but it was worth it to see Ciao Ciao’s jaw drop and his eyebrows disappear into his hairline as Yuuri-pup glomped Phichit.

Phichit giggled and ruffled Yuuri’s hair, dodging the sloppy dog-kisses as best as he could.  “It _is_ you!” he cooed, still laughing.  “ _You’re_ the best!  Best girl ever!”

Celestino blinked.  “H-how do you know it’s a female?” he managed finally, in a tone that suggested he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Oh, that?  She squats to pee.”  Seung-gil’s words, delivered in what Yuuri liked to call Phichit’s I-am-Aware-of-All-Internet-Traditions voice.  The meme might be older than dubstep, but at least it showed that Yuuri was _trying_.  Bless him.  “If Yuuri-pup were a boy, she’d probably lift a leg.  Or maybe just stand there. But not squat.”

Ciao Ciao stared at his skaters for a long moment, then shook his head as though trying to dispel a mental image.  “‘Go into coaching’, they said. ‘Nurture your skaters and shape the future of the sport’, they said. Right now the only thing I am interested in ‘nurturing’ is a bottle of limoncello.”

“Isn’t limoncello supposed to be a sipping liqueur?”

He glowered.  “I’m more concerned about not winding up as bald as Feltsman at the moment.  Now, we have twenty minutes to get to the soulreading clinic. I realize that I am going to regret asking this question until my dying day, and please understand that if you so much as hint that you _just happened_ to have such a thing lying around ahead of time I will have you doing suicide drills for the rest of _your_ natural life so _lie to me if necessary_ , but...”  Ciao Ciao squeezed his eyes closed, sighed heavily, and then fixed Phichit with a steely glare.  “Did you think to get some kind of leash for your dog?”

“ _Oh my god_ .”  He didn’t mean to burst into cackling; he just couldn’t help himself.  Celestino reddened and began muttering to himself in Italian. It seemed to be a mixture of swearing and praying, which only set Phichit off harder.  Yuuri-pup started running around both men while barking, apparently having realized that she was the only one not participating in Noisy Time. “Please,” Phichit gasped eventually, using the hand that wasn’t clutching his aching side to wipe away his tears of mirth, “ _please_ take a picture of me leading Yuuri down the street on a leash while he’s in cosplay. _I will own the internet_.”

Celestino buried his face in his hands and groaned.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:
> 
> Victor Almost Gets A Clue  
> Yuuri Does Get A Hug  
> And Then He Gets More Than He Bargained For  
> Butt Stuff  
> Because Booke's Chat Is Entirely Populated By Sadists  
> you know who you are

And then Makka was crying.  Ugly, yelping, heartbroken, almost-human-sounding  _ sobs  _ that shouldn’t belong to any dog, much less Victor’s beloved princess.  And for an awful instant Victor froze, the way he always did when faced with someone else’s emotional outburst.  What did they need Victor to do? More importantly, who did they need him to  _ be _ ?  The flirt, the pragmatist, the absent-minded genius?  People were so easy to manage with the right words and smile and tone of voice until suddenly they  _ weren’t,  _ until suddenly everything was a mess of tears and impulsivity, like a language Victor had forgotten how to speak.  If he’d ever known it in the first place. And this time it was so much worse, because this time it was  _ Makkachin  _ who needed him, Makka who was waiting for him to figure out how to act like a human being so that he could help her, Makka who was…

Makka who was being cradled in a full-body hug, on the cold, chipped, probably inadequately disinfected tile floor of the hospital waiting room, without Victor ever having consciously moved.  She stiffened in his arms, and for a moment he was afraid she was going to pull away again, but then she buried her face in Victor’s shoulder and melted against him.  

He found himself stroking her head, his fingers automatically seeking out the places around Makka’s ears that she liked best, while he murmured soothing nonsense.  Her cries softened, growing less desperate, and Victor closed his eyes. There was a warmth, in the places where skin touched fur, that was… not strange, for all that it was something that he’d never felt before.  No; this was  _ familiar _ , somehow, familiar and  _ needed _ , almost as if he, if  _ they-- _

Makkachin growled.

Victor’s eyes snapped open, his thoughts scattering like so many startled birds.  A vet tech was standing over them, concern twisting into wariness on his boyish face as he slowly pulled back an outstretched hand.

_ Too close. _   The thought was Victor’s, and yet it wasn’t.   _ Too close, I don’t know you.  Don’t touch me! _

“I’ve got her,” Victor told the tech, a bit more coolly than necessary.  “She’s fine.”

“She sounded like she was in pain--”

“We’re fine,” Victor repeated.  “Thank you.”

The tech backed off at the clear dismissal.  “If she tries to snap, we’ll have to muzzle her,” he warned.

Victor’s answering smile was icy.  “She won’t.”

He and Makka were left alone for a while after that.  She calmed, and Victor returned to the cushioned bench, the poodle sitting quietly by his feet.  He tried to remember the thought that he’d had, or almost had, before the vet tech had tried to touch Makkachin, but whatever it had been, it was long gone now.

_ Ah, well.  It probably wasn’t important. _

At last Victor’s name was called, and he and Makkachin were brought back to an examination room.  That same tech was there, eyeing Makka warily, but the doctor was an older woman with kind eyes and a dalmation-spotted hijab.  She asked Victor the usual barrage of questions before turning to Makka with a smile. And if Victor had been worried about her behavior with the vet (he  _ wasn’t _ !), those fears were quickly allayed.  Makkachin was a perfect lady, hopping up onto the examination table when prompted and holding as still as any doctor could hope for as she was poked and prodded for signs of internal pain or infection.  She posed patiently for X-Rays, seemingly unbothered by the strange positions she was asked to maintain. Even the blood draw caused no more drama from the poodle than a wince. The worst moment was when the vet took Makka’s temperature, and even then she only yelped and shot Victor a miserable look.

“We won’t know for certain until the test results come back,” the doctor told him eventually, “but her vitals look good and she doesn’t seem to be in any pain or other distress.  The biggest concern is if she’s not eating or drinking. We’d be happy to keep her overnight for observation, if--”

“No!” Victor yelped, shocking himself with his vehemence.  It was a good idea, it made sense, but the thought of leaving Makka alone, even in the best of hands…

It was unacceptable.

_ It’s the Grand Prix series.  I’ve been away from her too much lately as it is. _   “I’m sorry,” he apologized to the startled doctor.  “I’d rather take her home, if you don’t see a pressing reason why she should stay.”

The doctor did not, and so they left, the vet giving Victor a final instruction to try Makka on different foods to see if he could tempt her to eat.  They drove home in silence, Makkachin dozing in the passenger seat and Victor watching her when he could.  

The leash was hardly necessary in the parking garage and elevator; Makka looked as exhausted as Victor felt, his long day of travel more than catching up with him.  She waited patiently for Victor to open the door before making a beeline for her bed, burrowing deep into the electric blanket. She didn’t give the bowl with her dinner in it a second glance, but the raw chicken had been sitting at room temperature for hours now; it would be dangerous for Makka to eat even if she wanted to

He grabbed the uneaten meal and dumped it into the trash, tossing the empty bowl into the sink for tomorrow’s Victor to deal with.  Later today’s Victor, really.  

Victor needed a shower, not to mention his own dinner, which he’d skipped in his rush to get home, and completely forgotten in his concern over Makkachin.  Not to mention texting Chris, changing his sheets, and if not actually unpacking, at least moving his bags out of the middle of the living room floor. Victor did none of those things.  He didn’t even attempt to dig his toothbrush out of his carryon. Instead, he gave Makka’s ears a good scratching before vanishing into his bedroom, peeling off his clothing and kicking it to the floor, and collapsing into bed.

He was asleep practically before his head hit the pillow.

The dreams started sometime later.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:
> 
> Ciao Ciao is a MEAN MAN  
> Makkachin is a Good Girl Who Is Trying Her Best  
> I'll Get Around To Telling Everyone What The Acronym Means One Of These Years  
> I Almost Definitely Sort of Promise

Phichit wasn’t sure what he had been expecting out of an IBSA-licensed soulswap verification clinic.  Incense and mood lighting, probably, with Enya’s Greatest Hits playing on repeat. Maybe a random skull on display.  The building itself might be one of those old late-Victorian era farmhouses, weathered and haunted-looking. It certainly shouldn’t be a strip mall storefront, sandwiched between a Sally’s Beauty Supply and the flashing LED lightshow of ULTRAVI0LET VAP00RZ.

And yet, here they were.

Yuuri-pup hadn’t needed to be leashed, much to Celestino’s relief and Phichit’s mild disappointment.  She had been perfectly happy to be led around by the hand, until she realized she was being directed to a car, and then she’d been the one dragging Phichit.  Getting her belted into the back was only slightly challenging, and Ciao Ciao had absolutely refused to roll down the window so that she could stick Yuuri’s head out of it.  Which even Phichit had to admit was probably for the best.

Ciao Ciao held the clinic door open, and Phichit guided Yuuri-pup into a lobby that was large enough to hold a desk and two chairs, with a bit of walking space.  The walls were a warm taupe and decorated with hotel-style generic art. A door behind the desk had a sign taped to it that apologizing for not having public restrooms.

The receptionist put down her book, one that Phichit recognized as being about gay Californian werewolves (fun story, solid worldbuilding, but the author was a bit too into bears for Phichit’s taste), and gave Celestino a brief customer service smile, zeroing in on the coach as the obvious adult in the room.  “Katsookee?” she asked.

“Katsuki,” Celestino corrected her pronunciation, or tried to.  Unfortunately, at that moment Yuuri-pup realized that there was a New Friend to meet, and launched herself over the desk in her eagerness to do so, yanking Yuuri’s hand out of Phichit’s grasp before he was able to react.

All things considered, a shriek was probably a reasonable reaction to a sudden lapful of crossdressing Japanese hottie.  Especially when said Japanese hottie wound up overbalancing the chair, sending receptionist, skater, and chair tumbling ass over teakettle to the tasteful berber carpet.

“What the  _ shit _ ,” the receptionist yelped.

“Oh my god,” Phichit whispered.

“ _ Bad dog! _ ” Celestino bellowed.

Yuuri-pup froze in the act of sniffing the receptionist’s hair, shoulders curling in on themselves in a way that was all too familiar from human-Yuuri’s bad anxiety days.  She looked up at Phichit and Celestino, Yuuri’s big brown eyes filling with sudden tears. Yuuri-pup whimpered.

“Nice one, Ciao Ciao.  You made a puppy cry.”

“No, seriously, what the  _ shit _ .  Did you say  _ dog _ ?”

And then the not-a-restroom door burst open and a handsome black man wearing khakis and a polo shirt demanded to know what was going on out there, and whether Jaime was all right.

All of the humans blinked at the new arrival.  Yuuri-pup whimpered again, and the man’s attention snapped to her.

“Oh,” he breathed, his tone softening immediately.  “You are very far from home, aren’t you?”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:
> 
> Oh hey look a real tag:  
> Sharing a Bed  
> also  
> If Anyone Actually Knows What Jaime Was Reading In the Last Chapter Let Me Know In Comments   
> I'll Write a Drabble For the First Person Who Gets It Right (NOTE: CLAIMED)

Yuuri couldn’t sleep.  It wasn’t the bed, which was as soft and warm as any dog -- or human -- could possibly have wished.  It wasn’t the strange surroundings; he had long since gotten used to traveling and the unfamiliar sleeping arrangements that came with it.  It wasn’t even Makkachin’s body, which was comfortable enough to curl up in, and while his legs ached a bit, it was really no worse than the way his own body would throb after a bad day on the ice.

Yuuri just… wanted Victor.  Wanted to be near him, to let his soulmate’s warmth chase his fear and heartsickness away as he’d done for Yuuri at the animal hospital.  More than that, he wanted to find a way to give Victor that same comfort, the same solace in closeness and touch.

 _Stammi vicino, non te ne andare._   

He huffed a laugh, the dog’s body expelling air in a grunt.  It wasn’t that easy. It couldn’t be.

And yet.  If this wasn’t some kind of cosmic joke, or a mistake (“Fate doesn’t make mistakes, Yuu-chan.”  His mother’s voice, from a childhood long since left behind. “It brought you to us, and one day, I believe that it will lead you to someone who will love you just as much.”), if Yuuri really was meant to stand by Victor Nikiforov’s side as more than a competitor or a starry-eyed fanboy, then wasn’t it _exactly_ that simple?

Yuuri needed Victor.  This was a truth that had been etched in the glass of Yuuri’s heart ever since the day that a silver-haired boy had made history dancing the Lilac Fairy on an ancient CRT television in the back office of the Ice Castle.  But could Victor really need _Yuuri_?

Dog breath and an inability to stand on two legs suggested that the answer to that question might just be _yes_.

The bedroom door was open wide enough for Yuuri to slip inside.  Victor was stretched out on one side of the king-sized bed, buried under blankets to his chin and snoring softly.  Yuuri hopped up and settled in next to his soulmate, the _rightness_ of the contact immediately spreading through his chest like a balm.  Victor must have felt it too; he rolled toward Yuuri in his sleep, a hand emerging from the bedding to curl protectively around his furry body.  Man and dog sighed in peaceful unison, and Yuuri closed his eyes.

And he dreamed.

_They were dancing, laughing, spinning around the crowded floor as though they were the only two people in the world, trading the lead back and forth as naturally as breathing.  Victor’s smile was brilliant, like nothing Yuuri had ever seen in any poster or magazine. His tie was gone and his dress shirt partially unbuttoned, and he looked at Yuuri like a man in love.  For his own part, Yuuri’s jacket was missing, his shirt in a similar undone state as Victor’s, and he could feel something tied around his head like a bandana. The air smelled of champagne and Victor’s cologne, and for once in Yuuri’s life there was no reason to be anxious at all._

_“Victoru, if I win this dance-off, you have to be my coach…”_


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:
> 
> I Have Nothing Funny To Say About This Chapter  
> Exposition

“Wait,” Phichit demanded as they were ushered through the not-a-bathroom door into a comfortable sitting room.  “You really don’t need any kind of equipment? Like a soul-detecting machine, or--”

Theodore Washington (“call me Teddy”), licensed soul reader and notary public, grinned at him, dimpling.  “Crystals. You were expecting crystals, weren’t you?”

Well.  Not to put too fine a point on it, but yes.  “Of course not!” he huffed on principle.

Teddy chuckled and gestured toward an overstuffed leather sofa.  Phichit and Celestino sat, and Teddy led Yuuri-pup to a different couch.  Jaime, who had been more than cool once the situation was explained, brought everyone a bottled water from a mini fridge before leaving them to their consultation, pausing briefly to give Yuuri-pup a good scratch on her way back out to the lobby.  Yuuri-pup whined happily, her distress at being yelled at earlier completely gone.

“Is it an inborn ability, then?”  Ciao Ciao asked, all polite curiosity.

“Less an ability and more of a side effect.  What you have to understand is that while we call this particular phenomenon ‘soul swapping’, that’s not an accurate picture of what’s going on at all.  And this sweetheart here,” Teddy paused to pet Yuuri-pup, who had been trying to shove her nose under the soul reader’s hand in an unsubtle demand for exactly that, “is a perfect example of why --  _ and  _ how we know.” 

Celestino frowned, but Phichit blinked and then gasped as it clicked into place.  “Because she’s a dog who behaves like a dog!”

Teddy beamed.  “Exactly. Ten points to the Hogwarts House of your choice.”

“Slytherin.”

“Of course you are.”  He tipped Phichit a wink.

Celestino wasn’t getting it.  “What do you mean,” he demanded.  “How else would a dog act?”

“A dog who suddenly has access to the expanded reasoning, self awareness, understanding of cause and effect, ability to plan, and language capacity of a human brain?  We have no way of knowing! But she’d almost certainly start exhibiting some undoglike behaviors pretty much immediately. As for a human mind trying to function inside of a dog’s brain…” Teddy trailed off, and Phichit shuddered.  Would a person even stay enough of themselves to understand what they’d lost? Or would they simply be another dog for the duration? “Fortunately,” Teddy continued, “that’s  _ not  _ what is happening.  Our pupper here is visiting your friend Yuuri’s body, but her consciousness is tethered to her own physical body, and vice versa.  Puppy is using Yuuri’s senses via a brain that’s,” Teddy trailed off, his gaze unfocusing for a moment. Then he turned in place and pointed at one of the walls,  Phichit hadn’t noticed before, but they were marked with the cardinal directions. Teddy was pointing almost exactly northeast. “Really, really far that way. Northern Europe, maybe.  Thousands of miles between them, and yet both souls and bodies operate in real time. Isn’t that fascinating?”

Phichit was inclined to agree, but Celestino was more on-task.  “That doesn’t explain how you’re able to see these tethers,” he pointed out.

“Oh, didn’t I mention it was a side effect of swapping?  Your friend and Puppy will be able to see it too, or rather, they already do.  They’ll be sensitive to soul energy for the rest of their lives.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:
> 
> It's Not an Alternate Meeting AU if Victor Doesn't Get Naked Somewhere  
> Victor's Beautiful Tears  
> Sorry Not Sorry

Victor could not remember the last time he’d slept so well.  He woke up with his free skate music stuck in his head, and the fading memory of watching a dark-haired stranger dance it like it was a prayer.  Or a summons. Makka was asleep in his arms, her feet twitching slightly as she chased dream rabbits. Victor pressed a kiss to the top of her furry head, and chuckled as she let out a grumbling whine and covered her eyes with her paws.

“You don’t have to get up if you don’t want to, but some of us have to pee,” he informed her as he did his best to un-octopus himself without disturbing her too much.  He wasn’t entirely successful, and Makkachin rolled over with a huff, her big brown eyes now both open and reproachful. She slapped a paw at the warm spot Victor had just vacated and gave him a pointed stare, as though ordering him back to sleep.

He ruffled her ears.  “It’s a rest day, so we can cuddle all afternoon if we want, but I really need to get up now.  Besides, neither one of us ate dinner last night; you must be starving.” Makka patted at the bedding again, clearly unimpressed with Victor’s logic.  And even though he didn’t usually laze about in the mornings, preferring to start his day as soon as he woke up, the idea of curling back into that comfortable warmth was almost unreasonably attractive.

His phone said it was almost nine-thirty in the morning, far later than Victor usually slept, but barely four hours since he’d tumbled into bed.  No wonder he wanted to crawl back under the covers so badly.

Unfortunately, he really did need to use the bathroom.  His bladder was aching and his mouth tasted like he’d spent an entire day eating at airports and then didn’t brush his teeth afterward.  So after another quick, conciliatory petting, which earned him a hesitant hand lick that he chose to interpret as understanding if not forgiveness, Victor kicked off the blankets that were tangled around his waist, and slipped out of bed.

Only to freeze in shock as Makkachin yelped out something that sounded like a dying velociraptor screech, spun around to face away from him, and scrunched her eyes shut as tight as they would go.

“Makka!”  All of the previous night’s fear came rushing back, and then some.  Victor all but vaulted over the bed to return to his poodle’s side. “Makka?”  Frantically, he started petting her all over, looking for… something. Some kind of injury or sign of illness that the veterinarian had somehow missed.  The furry body went rigid beneath his fingers and she whined, high in her throat, but none of his touches seemed to cause her any pain. Her eyes were still squeezed shut.  “Makkachin, I don’t know what’s wrong, I don’t know what to do…” His vision had started to blur. He blinked to clear it, and tears spilled unbidden down his cheeks. A single fat, useless drop splatted onto Makkachin’s nose.

Makka’s eyes snapped open.  She looked up at his face, some complicated emotion that Victor couldn’t begin to unpack making her ears droop and pulling the corners of her mouth down.  She whined again, and it sounded worried. Hesitantly, almost shyly, she touched her nose to Victor’s cheek.

“I’m fine, _lyubov moya_ ,” he murmured, but it was a lie.  None of Makkachin’s behavior made _sense_ .  She acted as though she was in pain, but there was nothing wrong with her.  She seemed afraid of Victor, but then she turned to him for comfort -- or, just now, to comfort _him_ .  She’d growled at the vet tech, the first time Victor had _ever_ seen her growl at a human, but behaved for the doctor as though she understood what all of the poking and prodding meant.  Never mind all of the odd glances, her uncharacteristic calm in the car, the absence of doggy kisses, even the way she held herself, the way she moved.  It was _wrong_ , all of it.

_If I didn’t know any better I’d think this was a different dog entirely._

Which was, of course, absurd.  Victor would know Makkachin anywhere, by sight, by scent, by touch.  He’d know her in the dark. He’d be able to pick her out of a crowd of a hundred brown poodles.  It wouldn’t even take him five seconds; he’d _know_.  And this dog?  This was Makka.

And anyway, she wasn’t acting like any _other_ dog Victor had ever met, either.  Actually, and it was funny because Yakov had been yelling at him not to anthropomorphize his ‘damn dog’ since he was fourteen years old, but he’d swear that at times she was almost acting…

 _Human_.

Victor’s breath caught in his throat.  No. It wasn’t possible. He would have known, right?  There were supposed to be signs. Like… His eyes widened.  Like wanting to be near them, with the idea of distance being almost painful.  Like physical contact that felt like coming home.

 _Was_ it possible?

“Are--”  He swallowed.  Licked his lips.  “Are you my soulmate?” he whispered, his heart in his mouth.  

Makkachin flicked her ear at the sound of Victor’s voice, but otherwise didn’t react to the breathless question.

 _Idiot.  Of course you don’t get to be that lucky._   With a sigh, he swiped at his tear-streaked face.  “Come on Makka, let’s see if we can find something you’d like to eat.”  And if his voice was something dull, defeated, there was no one to notice other than his dog.  Who was definitely just a dog, no more, and no less. “Come on.” He patted his thigh encouragingly.

Makka started at the sharp sound of skin on skin, and glanced involuntarily downward.  Her gaze traveled down Victor’s naked body to where his folded legs met; her eyes widened.  She made another dinosaur shriek, lurched to her feet, and bolted from the room.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:
> 
> Victor Nikiforov: Man Who Washes His Hands  
> Super Dog Hearing Isn't Always A Positive

_Oh my god he’s naked why is he naked Victor Nikiforov_ _sleeps_ naked _who even does that oh no I slept next to_ naked Victor Nikiforov _how is this even my life…_

Running away had been instinctive; Victor’s apartment wasn’t particularly large, and there really wasn’t anywhere to go once Yuuri was in the living room.  Well, he could probably get the door open with teeth and paws if he really tried, take the elevator down to the lobby, and run out to the street, but getting lost in a foreign country where he not only couldn’t understand the language but also couldn’t speak _any_ language on account of _being a dog_ didn’t strike him as the brightest idea he’d ever had, even half-panicked as he was.

So instead, he took a page out of Vicchan’s book for dealing with thunderstorms and fireworks; he raced into the kitchen, nosed open the corner cupboard, and dove inside, letting the door swing shut and blanket him in comforting darkness.

Fortunately for Yuuri, the cupboard was fairly empty.  There were a few cans and boxes of rice or pasta sharing the space with him, but nothing too bulky or uncomfortable.  Hopefully he wasn’t ruining any of Victor’s favorite snacks by sitting on them, but if he was, well. Yuuri was probably already the worst soulmate in history; a few packages of squashed junk food were hardly going to make much of a difference at this point.

Victor was pacing the living room, calling for Makkachin.  Yuuri could feel him as well as hear him, a beacon of fear and love and sadness that his own heart ached to soothe.

 _What am I doing?  This is stupid._ I’m _being stupid.  I’m making him worry.  Again. Who cares if he’s nak-- if he's clothed or not, I need to stop hiding and--_

Footsteps on the kitchen tile.  Victor’s presence drew closer, but while the fear was as sharp as ever, now there was… confusion?  Confusion, followed by something like realization, shock, and maybe a tiny glimmer of hope?  

One slow step, directly toward Yuuri’s hiding place.  Two. Three, and then the door of the cupboard opened a crack.  A single blue eye peered through the opening, widening when it fell on Yuuri.  That spark of hope flared.

“Makkachin..?”  Enough was more than enough.  Slowly, deliberately, Yuuri shook his head from side to side.  Victor sucked in a sharp breath. He said -- asked -- something, in a shaking voice.  Yuuri thought the words sounded the same as the ones Victor had whispered to him right before he’d bolted out of the bedroom, but he wasn’t sure, and he had never wished for anything more in his life than he wished he could understand Russian at that moment.  If only he hadn’t let Phichit’s teasing get to him and dropped out of RUS 100, but he had, and then he also had, and now all he could do was tilt his head sideways in his best look of puzzlement, and pray that Victor got the hint.

The door opened wider, and a hand reached out toward Yuuri.  He couldn’t help himself; he leaned forward, eager for Victor’s touch.  And then he saw.

Victor, still utterly nude, was squatting in front of Yuuri’s cupboard, his legs spread as if to showcase the tangle of silver curls where they met, and the soft, pink cock that was dangling at precisely dogs’-eye level and mere inches away... 

_Pants!  Oh my fucking god, PANTS!_

Yuuri didn’t think he’d tried to bark the thought aloud, but he must have made some kind of noise because Victor's fingers had no more brushed the curls of his furry jaw before he jerked back as if burned, his mouth falling open in a gasp.  He babbled something incomprehensible in Russian, spun on his heel, and fled.

Now _what did I do?_

Caught between following Victor and staying put in his impromptu den, Yuuri stuck his head out of the cupboard and tried to make sense of what he was hearing.  Victor had raced to the back of the apartment and now was cursing under his breath while he did -- something -- with rustling fabric. _Is he getting dressed?_ Please _let him be getting dressed._   Then he took a few steps back toward the kitchen before apparently changing his mind and rushing into the bathroom instead.  A few bathroom noises, and wow Yuuri didn’t need to know what Victor Nikiforov sounded like when he was peeing but he supposed it was good to know that the champion was conscientious about washing his hands?  After the sink turned off, Victor was running again, and three seconds later he was back in front of Yuuri’s cupboard. His feet were bare, he was wearing a pair of faded pink sweatpants and a mustard t-shirt that not only clashed horribly but also appeared to be inside out, and his hands were dripping.

“ _Ty russkiy ponimayesh'_?”  Finally, something Yuuri understood!  He shook his head no.  Unsurprised, Victor tapped his bottom lip with a finger.  “English?” 

And Yuuri nodded eagerly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured "Do you understand Russian" would be a pretty safe phrase to Google translate, but if any native Russian speakers have any corrections I'd appreciate it!
> 
> Also, one of my cats hides in cupboards.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags:
> 
> Second Verse Same as the First  
> Yet More Bodily Functions  
> Now Everyone Is On The Same Page And There Will Be No More Misunderstandings Or Secrets At All Ever Again  
> Author Wonders Why Everyone Is Looking At Her Like That

By the time Victor managed to scramble to his feet and chase after Makkachin, his dog was nowhere to be found.  And that wasn’t possible. His apartment wasn’t just minimalist; it was practically spartan. There weren’t any places for a standard poodle to hide, even if Makka were a cowering sort of dog, which she wasn’t.  Normally. Except here Victor was, standing in the middle of an empty living room, dogless.

“Makka?” he called.  “Makkachin!” No answer.  Her dog bed didn’t look like she was hiding in it, but Victor lifted up the electric blanket and peered underneath it anyway.  No luck.

But she had to be  _ somewhere _ .  Maybe the bathroom?  But no, he’d glanced in there on the way out to the living room, and besides, he could have sworn he heard her running out here.

Maybe if he listened for her?  “Makka!” Victor called again, and then went still, holding his breath, straining to hear a whine, or the jingle of her collar.  Anything.  

Nothing.  The apartment was silent.  Except--

It wasn’t a sound, exactly, because Victor wasn’t hearing it with his ears.  It was almost more of a -- feeling? Or rather, a confused jumble of feelings; there was worry there, so much like his own fear for Makkachin.  But there was a sort of shy affection, too, and sadness, and shame, and guilt. None of it was his -- Victor Nikiforov was utterly shameless; just ask Yakov -- but it was coming from nearby.  And it was calling to him.

_ ‘Are -- are you my soulmate?’  _  There’d been no recognition, no understanding in those big brown puppy eyes at all.  But what was Victor feeling now, if not empathic resonance?  _ Soulmate  _ resonance?  What if--

He closed his eyes.  Turned to face the direction where the foreign emotions were coming from.  He took a step, and felt cool tile beneath his feet. Another step. He felt a thrill of nervous excitement; was that Victor’s, or the other’s?  It was getting so hard to tell. A final step, and he had to open his eyes or risk walking into something. His kitchen just wasn’t that big.  

Victor was standing directly in front of the corner cabinet.  And as far as he could tell, his quarry, whether Makkachin or someone else, was inside the lower cupboard.  All he had to do was reach out and open the door.

If his hands were shaking, there was no one there to judge him for it.  No one to see him pausing with his fingers resting on the shaped wood corner of the cupboard door, caught between possibility and rejection.  He took a breath. And pulled, a bare few centimeters. Just enough to see, if there was anything there.

Light spilled through the opening, illuminating a riot of chocolate curls.

_ I -- I knew it.  _  “Makkachin..?”  It was almost unfair, how a single word could hold so much hope.  The poodle looked up at Victor, liquid brown eyes holding blue, and shook her head in a slow, emphatic,  _ no _ .

Victor gasped.  “You  _ are  _ my soulmate, aren’t you,” he breathed.  But Makkachin only tilted her head and blinked at him, uncomprehending.  Just like she had in the bedroom.

_ No.  I’m right, I  _ know  _ I am. _   Operating entirely on instinct now, Victor pulled the cupboard open all the way and reached a hand inside.  Rather than shying away from him again, ‘Makka’ met him halfway, leaning into his touch. Until the instant that her eyes focused on him, only to suddenly blow wide.

_ Pants!  Oh my fucking god, PANTS! _

Victor was halfway across the kitchen before he realized he’d recoiled, the horrified embarrassment of the thought (A thought!  A human thought! In  _ words _ !) driving him backwards as though he’d been physically shoved.

“Oh my god, I knew it.  I mean I hoped, but I didn’t really think you were real, but you are real, and you’re mine, and I’m yours, and…” Victor’s babbling trailed off as the meaning of his soulmate’s ( _ soulmatesoulmatesoulmate I have a soulmate! _ ) projected thought finally sunk in.

Pants.

Victor had been parading around nude all this time in front of his  _ soulmate _ .

A whole lot of strange behavior suddenly clicked into place, and he could feel his face turning scarlet.  “Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t know you were there, I mean, you--” he started, realized that none of this was actually helping, muttered “I’ll just go put on some -- sorry again -- I’ll be right back,” and bolted.

He’d never gotten dressed so fast in his  _ life _ .

And then he had to duck into the bathroom because bodies don’t care about life-changing revelations or destined encounters, and if there was any possible way to make a worse impression on a newfound soulmate than to enact a live version of an unsolicited dick pic first thing in the morning, wetting himself because he couldn’t hold it anymore would probably do it.

God, Victor was a disaster.

Some part of his brain must have been thinking while the rest of him was stuck in panic mode, because the first words out of his mouth when he made it back to the kitchen, breathless, were “Do you understand Russian?”

The poodle shook her head, and that answered that.

“English?” Victor tried, because it was likelier than French.

‘Makkachin’ nodded.  And Victor burst into tears.


End file.
